


Here With You

by aw_writing_no



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28379889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw_writing_no/pseuds/aw_writing_no
Summary: She wraps her arms around Quynh and pulls her close. They fit against one another perfectly, the curves of their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. Quynh hides her face in Andy’s neck, sighing happily as Andy rests her cheek against her hair.Andy’s eyes meet Booker’s over the top of Quynh’s head. “You brought her back to me,” Andy says. “You brought Quynh back to me, and you came home.”Booker clears his throat. “You told me to have a little faith,” he says. “It took me awhile, but she helped me find it.”ORAndy learns new ways to heal after Quynh comes home.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115
Collections: Andromaquynh Secret Santa 2020





	Here With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayQueen517](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayQueen517/gifts).



> This is my Andromaquynh Secret Santa gift for MayQueen517. I hope you like this, thank you for being so patient while I posted! This was so, so fun to write.

It’s a crisp afternoon in November, and the team is relaxing between missions when their vacation is disturbed by a knock at the door.

Everyone is immediately on high alert, reaching for whatever weapon is within reach. _They found us_ , Andy thinks, but that doesn’t make sense. Nobody has been looking for them since Copley began covering their tracks. 

Nile is the first to the entrance, gun held low at her side, opening the door a fraction before throwing it wide open. Instantly her posture relaxes. She gasps in delight and throws her arms Booker's neck. 

“You couldn’t give us a heads up?” she asks, laughter in her voice. Booker shrugs in her embrace and pulls her closer against him, resting his face on her hair. He makes eye contact with Joe over her shoulder. Andy glances between them, noting the way Joe presses his lips together and narrows his eyes, and the way that Booker flinches at his expression. 

Andy opens her mouth, ready to intervene, when Nicky lays a placating hand on the small of his husband’s back. They exchange a look. Even after all these centuries Andy isn’t able to decipher the silent conversations they have, but after a moment Joe sighs and unfolds his arms. He slides his hand into Nicky’s back pocket instead. 

“How did you find us?” Nicky asks. 

Booker untangles himself from Nile’s grasp, then shifts his weight from foot to foot and brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Copley told me.”

The corners of Nicky’s lips pull downward. “How did you get him to tell you?”

“It took some convincing,” Booker admits. “But finally he agreed that the surprise would be worth it.”

“Surprise?” Andy asks. She knows that she should be upset, that she should be telling Booker that his one hundred years are nowhere close to done. But even this short amount of time without Booker has been too much for Andy. Exiling him had felt like a punishment to her as well; it didn’t seem fair that she would never get to see her brother again.

It’s not like the other losses she’s experienced -- she doesn’t feel his absence like a phantom limb, throbbing and raw and wrong. Missing Booker is a quiet ache.

Booker smiles at her. “Andy,” he says softly.

“Hey, Book.” Andy’s eyes are warm as she looks back at him. 

Booker holds her gaze for a moment longer, and then glances back over his shoulder. “Are you going to come in?”

“I wanted to let you have your moment.”

_No_ , Andy thinks, _no it can’t be._ Because she knows that voice, she will _always_ know that voice. She’s heard it speak a hundred different languages, heard it murmur against her lips and moan breathlessly in her ear. 

Heard it screeching her name, full of devastation and acrid fear, as they were dragged apart five hundred years ago.

Quynh steps over the threshold, and time stops. 

Andy’s necklace feels like a noose tightening around her throat. She’s been asphyxiated hundreds of times in her long life, but never has she felt the utter terror that fills her now. Her sternum is caving in and the shards of bone pierce her heart, rupturing muscle and causing a hemorrhage within her. Blood must be flooding her thorax and compressing her lungs -- there’s no other explanation for the tightness in her chest, or the way she cannot catch her breath. 

Quynh smiles, her lips quivering as if she’s unused to the expression. “Hello, everyone. Did you miss me?”

Nicky is the first one to react. He breaks away from Joe and covers the distance to Quynh in three long strides. He gathers her in his arms, pulling her flat against him in a rather violent motion, then begins to whisper in her ear in rapid Italian. From the corner of her eye, Andy can see that Joe has his hands pressed over his mouth, eyes shining with unshed tears. Then he too surges forward, wrapping himself around Quynh’s back and pressing desperate kisses into her hair. Quynh laughs, trapped between them.

Andy cannot move.

“Holy shit,” Nile says. “You got out. You’re _here_.” 

Quynh manages to turn her head, even though it is still pillowed against Nicky’s chest. “You must be Nile. You’re just as beautiful as I dreamed.” 

“You look so much better than my dreams,” Nile says, and then groans, clearly embarrassed. But Quynh lets out an amused snort, and Nile grins at her.

A small sob escapes Andy’s lips. 

Joe and Nicky drop their arms simultaneously, stepping away from Quynh. Suddenly there is nobody between Quynh and Andy, nothing but a few feet of empty floor keeping them apart.

Andy cannot move. 

“Andromache,” Quynh breathes. Andy cannot tell if she says it as a curse or a benediction. The syllables are soft as they roll off Quynh’s tongue, containing none of the sharp edges that tore at Andy the last time she heard Quynh scream her name.

“Quynh.” Andy’s not sure if the word actually makes it past her lips. “Quynh,” she says again, and this time her voice breaks. 

Quynh is the one to close the distance between them, steps hesitant at first, then more sure the closer she gets. Andy’s hand comes up the moment she’s within reach, ready to cup Quynh’s cheek, then drops back down to her side.

She has absolutely no right to touch Quynh. 

“Is this real?” Andy asks, her voice trembling. “Are you really here?”

Quynh apparently has no qualms about touching Andy. She reaches up to curl her hand around the back of Andy’s neck, then tilts her head up to meet her gaze. A small smile plays across her lips.

“I’m here,” Quynh says. “I’m here with you, my heart.”

Andy closes her eyes, feels tears spill over. The hand on her neck slides forward to cradle her jaw, and then Quynh’s thumb swipes across her cheek. 

Andy doesn’t deserve this tenderness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Quynh, I’m so --”

“Hush.” Quynh pulls Andy forward so that their foreheads are resting against one another. “There will be time for that later. Can’t we just enjoy this moment?”

Andy swallows hard, nods. Then she wraps her arms around Quynh and pulls her close. They fit against one another perfectly, the curves of their bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. Quynh hides her face in Andy’s neck, sighing happily as Andy rests her cheek against her hair.

Andy’s eyes meet Booker’s over the top of Quynh’s head. “You brought her back to me,” Andy says. “You brought Quynh back to me, and you came _home_.”

Booker clears his throat. “You told me to have a little faith,” he says. “It took me awhile, but she helped me find it.”

“Our little brother is very stupid,” Quynh mumbles against Andy’s throat.

Andy laughs -- it’s wet and broken, but full of joy. “He is,” she agrees. “But we love him anyway.” 

Andy looks at Joe, who is staring at her and Quynh as they embrace. His eyes flick towards Booker. 

“Loving him was never the problem,” Joe says finally. Booker holds his gaze for a moment, then sniffs and stares at the ground. Joe looks back at Andy. “It’s your call, boss.”

Quynh is warm and solid in Andy’s arms; Booker is close enough to touch. She looks at Joe, her eyes pleading.

“I want him to stay,” she says. “I want to be with my family.”

Joe takes a deep breath and then forces his shoulders to relax, nodding sharply. Nicky reaches out to squeeze his hand encouragingly. 

“We’re all here, Andromache,” Nicky says. The corners of his eyes crinkle, a warm suggestion of a smile as he looks at Andy and Quynh. “Your family is with you.”

“You’re here,” Andy reiterates, and tightens her arms around Quynh. She buries her face in Quynh’s hair. “We’re all here.”

“Together,” Quynh promises, and presses a kiss against Andy’s throat, right over her pulse. 

* * *

Andy doesn’t remember much from their first night back together. It’s a blur of sobbed apologies and hushed reassurances that she doesn’t deserve. She’s perched at the edge of her bed, watching as Quynh stops a few feet away to study her.

Seeing Quynh standing before her is somehow both the strike of a match, ready to light the pyre and watch her burn, and the cool splash of water by which she is saved. 

Andy once tried to do the math and figure out how many times Quynh drowned over the past five hundred years. She had died of alcohol poisoning a few times before Joe and Nicky found her and begged her to stop. 

(She tries to recall the sum, the calculations hazy after all this time. Still, she tries to remember. She needs to do penance for each and every death.) 

Quynh doesn’t seem interested in her apologies. She reaches for Andy the same way she would approach a wild horse, intentional but slow, wary in case Andy decides to bolt. Andy squeezes her eyes shut and turns away. She flinches when she feels Quynh’s hand on the side of her neck; fingers trail along her jawline before grasping her chin.

“Enough,” Quynh says, digging her thumb into the underside of Andy’s mandible and tilting her face up sharply. Andy’s eyes fly open, her pupils dilating as she sees Quynh staring down at her. “You’ve punished yourself for centuries, Andromache. That’s enough.”

“But --” 

Quynh silences her with a bruising kiss, her hold on Andy’s chin still tight as if she’s worried Andy might try and escape. Andy’s lips part instantly, ceding control as Quynh’s tongue slides past her teeth and into her mouth. It’s not a soft kiss hello, or a tender reunion; it’s dominating and possessive, as if Quynh is trying to devour her. 

It’s everything Andy’s wanted for the past five hundred years.

Quynh pulls back just far enough to nip at Andy’s bottom lip, once, then twice, before she sinks her teeth in. Andy gasps, tastes copper as blood blooms from the wound. Quynh soothes the spot with her tongue, and then breaks their kiss completely to look at Andy with lust-blown eyes.

The cut on Andy’s lip continues to bleed.

Quynh loosens her grip on Andy’s chin. She swipes her thumb across Andy’s lips, and Andy hisses as her fingertips catch on the torn edge of the wound.

“Five hundred years without you was enough,” Quynh says. “Please let me be with you for whatever comes next.”

“I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me,” Andy says. Her arm snakes out to wrap around Quynh’s waist, pulling her forward until they both topple backwards onto the bed. 

(She’ll be Quynh’s for as long as she has left.)

* * *

The six of them stay together.

Even though Andy wants to whisk Quynh away to explore old haunts and create several lifetimes of new memories, they stay. Quynh pretends it’s because she has to learn how she fits in this new dynamic -- she wants to get to know Booker and Nile, and hear about the seventeen weddings Joe and Nicky had while she was under water. She absolutely _must_ teach Nile how to shoot a crossbow and how to ride a horse, the same way she _needs_ Nicky to teach her how to use a sniper rifle. 

Andy knows there’s some truth in Quynh’s reasoning. Even if there wasn’t, after five hundred years of separation she can’t possibly deny Quynh anything.

(As if she could ever deny Quynh anything.) 

She also knows that Quynh keeps them there because the rest of the group is struggling with Andy’s mortality. 

They all show it in different ways. Nicky keeps testing baklava recipes, doing his utmost to recreate the perfect pastry that Andy devoured sometime in the seventeenth century. Nile constantly asks questions, wants to learn as much as she possibly can. She coaxes Andy into reminiscing over millennia of hard-learned lessons, but also the pieces of joy that she had found along the way. Booker finds her in quiet moments, expecting nothing from Andy except for her presence and the occasional glass of whiskey.

Joe hovers. 

Andy sees him from the corner of her eye sometimes, reaching out like he wants to grab her shoulder or take her hand in his. Like he needs to confirm that she’s still there. He always stays his hand and redirects his touch to Nicky. She doesn’t notice it at first -- Nicky and Joe have always been wrapped in one another, oblivious to the world around them. 

But lately when Joe reaches for Nicky, his eyes are on Andy.

Andy really does make an effort to reassure him. She touches his waist when she passes him in the hall, pulls him into spine-crushing hugs that last a few seconds longer than she would have tolerated in the past.

Joe hovers. 

A few months after they were all reunited, she wanders into the living room of their current safe house. She’s tired in a way she hasn’t been in several thousand years, her muscles sore from sparring with Nile. Nicky and Quynh had taken over after she finally bowed out.

Joe’s watching a football match, leaning back into the cushions with his legs far enough apart that Nile would accuse him of ‘man-spreading’. He turns off the television as soon as he notices she’s entered the room.

“Hey boss,” he says, just as he’s done hundreds of times before. “How was training?”

“Nile’s a fighter,” Andy replies. “A few hundred more years and I think she’ll be the deadliest of all of us. I’m fucking exhausted.” 

Joe’s gaze flicks between her and the cushion next to him, so quickly she’s sure it’s unintentional. Andy’s heart breaks, just a little, and she settles onto the couch beside him.

She shoves his right arm. “Let me in.”

Joe beams as he lifts his arm and she settles her head on his chest. She brings her legs up onto the couch so that she’s fully lying against him, then wiggles for a few moments to make herself comfortable as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. 

“Don’t get used to this,” Andy says.

She feels Joe kiss her temple. “I won’t,” he promises.

(The ‘ _I don’t have time to’_ hangs unspoken between them.)

Andy doesn’t even remember drifting off, but a few hours later she opens her eyes. Nile must have really worn her out if she had fallen asleep on Joe. Lifting her head slightly, she realizes that there are significantly more people cuddled together than there had been hours before.

Nicky is pressed against Joe’s other side, his head on Joe’s shoulder and their fingers entwined. Tucked into the impossibly small space between the bend in Andy’s knees and the arm of the couch, Quynh sleeps with her hand curled around Andy’s calf. Nile is on the floor, cradled in the V of Joe’s legs with her head resting on his thigh; she fell asleep with her fingers still tangled in Booker’s hair. Andy doesn’t think she’s ever seen Book as peaceful as he does now, sprawled out on the carpet with his head in Nile’s lap.

A small smile plays across Andy’s lips as she looks at her family, draped over one another in a ridiculous pile. She loves them so much she’s not sure her chest can contain it. She settles back against Joe, closes her eyes, and drifts. 

There are far worse ways to spend the time she has left. 

* * *

Quynh kisses her way down Andy’s stomach, mouthing along the crest of Andy’s hip and burying her nose into the crease of Andy’s thigh. She murmurs praises against Andy’s skin as she goes, _I love you_ and _I missed you_ and _I can’t believe I have you again_ , in every language they’ve learned over the years.

Andy moans as Quynh finally settles between her legs and licks a long wet stripe along her cunt before swirling her tongue around Andy’s clit. 

It’s perfect. Everything about having Quynh back is perfect. 

(Except that it’s not.)

Quynh touches Andy like she’s something precious, something to be treasured -- Andy finds herself treating Quynh much the same. They’re soft, treating the other as if they should be locked away from the world, lest it break them both. 

It’s understandable, after five hundred years apart. After Andy lost her immortality.

It’s just not _them_. 

Andy and Quynh were always calamitous when they came together, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and creating absolute ecstasy when they crashed into one another. One was the wind, and the other was sand, whipping each other into a storm that left utter destruction in their path. Andy misses that adrenaline, that high. She wants to taste Quynh’s feral smile after a fight, lick blood from her lips and feel Quynh’s teeth against her throat. 

(She wants to feel unbreakable.)

Andy tangles her fingers in Quynh’s hair and then gently pulls her away. Quynh meets her gaze, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Is everything okay, love?”

“Come here,” Andy growls. She sits up on the bed and then hauls Quynh into her lap. Quynh goes willingly, bracketing her legs around Andy’s thighs. Andy yanks her down into a rough kiss, biting Quynh’s lip hard enough to taste blood, and feels the wound immediately heal beneath her tongue. Quynh gasps against her mouth and then moans, darting her tongue out to lick Andy’s lips open. The kiss is messy, and wet, and red, tinged with iron and all teeth.

It’s not a battle, or a struggle, but it’s violent in the best way. Every nerve in Andy’s body sings as Quynh writhes in her arms; she can feel how wet Quynh is, slick smearing across her lower abdomen as Quynh gyrates against her. Andy reaches between them and easily slides one, then two fingers into Quynh. Her thumb circles Quynh’s clit as she crooks both fingers forward.

“Fuck,” Quynh gasps, and Andy laughs. This is familiar at least, the way Quynh rapidly loses her patience and begins to fuck herself down on Andy’s fingers. Quynh closes her eyes and throws her head back, chasing her own pleasure, and Andy begins to pump her hand into Quynh, meeting every downward thrust.

Quynh’s pace stutters, loses its rhythm, and Andy can feel her begin to tighten around her fingers. Andy surges forward to lick along the exposed column of Quynh’s throat. She seals her lips over Quynh’s pulse point and sucks a hard bruise there, and it’s just enough to send Quynh over the edge. 

Andy leaves her fingers in Quynh even after she comes, rubbing light circles over Quynh’s clit until she whimpers.

“I wasn’t done with you yet,” Quynh says. 

“You were too far away,” Andy says. “Want to feel you against me.” She slides her fingers out of Quynh and wraps both her arms around her lover, pulling her down into a soft, open-mouthed kiss. “Forgive me?”

“You’ll have to earn it.”

Andy smiles at the challenge, then flips Quynh onto her back. They get lost in each other again, and it’s rough and tender (and perfect). 

  
  
  


“Fun night?” 

Andy glances at Nile over the rim of her coffee mug. “What makes you say that?”

Nile grins and taps a finger against her own neck. “You’ve got a little something there.” 

“Goddamnit, Quynh.” Andy’s hand flies up to her throat. “Did you give me a hickey?”

“What?” Quynh asks innocently. “I’ve never gotten the chance to brand you before.” She leans forward to press her finger against one of the bite marks, and Andy hisses as the sensation.

Quynh smiles. “It’s fun, getting to show everyone that you’re mine now.” 

Andy’s gaze softens. “I was always yours.” 

“Ugh, and I thought Joe and Nicky were over the top,” Nile says with a scowl, although she can’t hold it for long before it dissolves into a grin.

“Where do you think we got it from?” Nicky says. He’s still in the kitchen, making an omelette for Joe, who is glued to his back and refusing to wake up.

“Shut up, we have _never_ been as bad as you,” Andy laughs. 

“You’re full of crap, boss,” Joe mumbles into Nicky’s shoulder. “You two are sweet.”

“We really are,” Quynh says. Andy shrugs -- she guesses she can live with that.

* * *

Shit goes sideways in Dar es Salaam.

It’s the first op since Quynh and Booker came home -- they’re tracking down smugglers shipping large quantities of ivory and other illegal animal products. As if poaching and wildlife smuggling isn’t horrendous enough, the syndicate is also involved in the underground sex trade and regularly pays off politicians to look the other way. 

Andy and Quynh are on reconnaissance at the port, winding their way through the numerous shipping containers. Quynh had begged Andy to join her on surveillance, supposedly to keep her company, although Andy suspects that Quynh is trying to keep her out of a firefight.

Andy doesn’t want to play spy; she wants to be the first one through the door, same as always. 

They take a sharp left, coming around a blind corner, and find themselves staring down the barrel of an assault rifle. 

Quynh leaps into action before the guard can even react, ducking beneath the gun to come up behind him and neatly slice his throat. Andy groans as arterial spray hits her in the face -- it’s warm, and metallic, and on her _lips_. She spits, trying to get the taste of copper out of her mouth, and idly wonders if she has to worry about bloodborne illnesses now that she’s mortal. 

“Sorry for the mess,” Quynh says, grinning as she lets the man’s body fall to the ground. “Have your reflexes gotten slower in the last few centuries?”

Andy opens her mouth, a snarky reply already on her tongue, when she notices movement from behind Quynh. 

It’s instinct. _Protect Quynh_ has been hardwired into her for millenia; it’s part of her, deep and so intense she can feel it vibrate through her marrow. Andy hurtles over the body at Quynh’s feet and shoves the other woman before her before she even really processes the danger. There’s a man, and a gun, and then there’s _pain_. 

  
  


“Andromache!” 

Andy stumbles backwards, loses her balance as she trips over the guard Quynh had killed so effortlessly. Her back hits the ground just as Quynh pulls her own gun and kills Andy’s murderer with a double shot to the head. 

_She’s always been a fast learner_ , Andy thinks, irrationally proud that Quynh is just as deadly with a gun as she is with a bow and arrow or a sword. Andy gasps, trying to get a full breath, but her stomach is on fire. She's lost track of how many times she’s been shot, how many bullets have ripped through her flesh and lodged in bones.

This time, Andy can feel the path of the bullet that killed her, the empty, throbbing ache that courses through her abdomen. 

Quynh’s face swims into view. “Andromache, what the fuck did you do?” She begins to search frantically through her pockets, cursing beneath her breath before she finally finds her cellphone. “Nicky? You need to get us out of here _now_. Andy’s been shot.”

Quynh pulls Andy backwards, away from the first guard she had killed, and then kneels beside her. “What were you thinking, Andromache? You’re mortal now.” Quynh’s voice breaks as she begins to place pressure on the wound. Andy doesn’t tell her that it’s useless, that she’s still bleeding from the exit wound and that she can _feel_ the severity of the damage. She knows that Quynh has to try, the same way she had desperately tried to hold Lykon together all those years ago.

“Wasn’t thinking,” Andy says. “Had to save you.”

“You’re such an idiot.” The pressure on Andy’s wound falters for a moment as Quynh takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I would have been _fine_ , Andromache.” 

It’s not the way that Quynh had screamed her name five hundred years ago, but Andy thinks the word must taste the same -- there’s a sharp edge of loss, and fear, and betrayal. 

“Don’t say my name like that. Please.” 

Quynh looks up at her, confused, and Andy actually thinks the grief wrought across her face may hurt more than the bullet had. Tears roll down Quynh’s name as she asks, “Like what?”

“Like an accusation,” Andy says. The word catches at the back of her throat. “It was the last thing I heard before I lost you for five hundred years. Please…” The words dissolve as a fresh wave of pain rolls through her abdomen, and she groans.

Quynh glances down at her hands, at the torrent of blood still oozing from Andy’s wound. She must realize that her attempts are going to be fruitless, because she swallows hard and then pulls away. She doesn’t go far, just leans back on her heels to wipe her hands clean on her pants, and then crawls forward so that she can reach out to cradle Andy’s cheek. 

“Andromache,” she says, and it’s soft and warm and a balm on Andy’s soul. “I didn’t blame you then, my heart. And I don’t blame you now.” She gently rearranges them so that Andy’s head is pulled into her lap. Quynh is openly sobbing now, but she forces her lips into a small, anemic smile. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

And Andy doesn’t want to be lost; she wants to stay with Quynh. 

“You were the best part of all my lives.” Andy reaches up to brush a tear from Quynh’s cheek, and it takes nearly every ounce of strength she has left. Quynh catches her hand and presses a kiss against Andy’s palm. 

“This isn’t the end, do you hear me? Our family is on their way, and they’re going to save you. We’re going to get you all fixed up, and in a few days I’m going to make fun of you for how melodramatic you are being right now.”

“Not melodramatic,” Andy murmurs. “Just in love with you.” The pain is ebbing away, replaced with an icy numbness that radiates through her core. Can’t be too much longer now. 

“I love you too.” Quynh curls in half to rest their foreheads together. 

(It’s nice that she’ll be sharing Quynh’s air even with her dying breath.)

“Please don’t leave me.” Quynh barely breathes the words, and Andy is sure that she wasn’t meant to hear. Andy doesn’t want to make this any harder for Quynh than it already is, so she closes her eyes, and waits for Death.

And waits. 

And waits.

“It’s been a few years since I died,” Andy mumbles. “Does it usually take this long?” 

Quynh pulls back and stares at Andy with wide eyes. “What?”

“I don’t know, doesn’t this feel like it’s dragging on a little?” The words come easier than they had before. 

“Are you really complaining about your final death taking too long?” Quynh scowls. “Maybe you’re just stubborn enough to hold on until help arrives.”

Andy laughs. “That’s entirely possible,” she admits. She furrows her eyebrows for a moment, wondering where she found the energy to laugh. She takes a deep breath, frowning slightly as her lungs readily expand. “It hurts less than I expected, too.” 

Suddenly Quynh’s thighs are gone from beneath Andy’s head, and Andy curses as her skull falls back against the concrete. “Ow,” she says. “That’s a really rude way to treat someone who’s dying.” 

Quynh isn’t listening -- she’s already down by Andy’s side, yanking Andy’s shirt up to expose her midriff. Andy cranes her neck to watch as Quynh begins to run her hands over her stomach.

“It’s healing,” Quynh whispers. Then, louder, “Andromache! It’s healing!”

“No,” Andy says. “No that’s impossible.” But she watches Quynh feverishly wipe away a thick layer of blood, revealing only unmarred skin. Quynh presses her palm over the center of Andy’s abdomen, exactly where she had been trying to stanch the hemorrhage only a few minutes before. 

Quynh keeps her hand there for a long moment, and then roughly pulls Andy into a sitting position. She leans around to look at Andy’s back, and traces her fingertips across the flesh where the exit wound should be. 

“I don’t understand,” Andy says. 

Quynh leans back to gaze into Andy’s eyes. “Give me your arm,” she demands. Andy holds it out without question. Quynh draws her switchblade from her pocket and then flicks it open. Her gaze flickers towards Andy’s momentarily before she presses the blade against Andy’s forearm carves a thin red line into her skin.

“Quynh, what the fuck --” 

Quynh claps her hand over Andy’s mouth. She’s staring at Andy’s arm, chewing on her lip, and looking so goddamn hopeful it makes something twist deep within Andy’s guts. Then Quynh lets out a noise that’s half laugh and half sob, and reaches out to touch Andy’s arm.

Andy’s skin knits itself back together underneath Quynh’s fingers. 

“I’m healing.”

Quynh launches herself into Andy’s arms, knocking her back against the ground and landing on top of her. Andy laughs as Quynh presses frantic kisses against the column of her throat. She wraps her arms around Quynh and pulls her impossibly closer, every line of their bodies pressed together. 

It takes Andy a long moment before she’s able to decipher the steady stream of words spilling from Quynh’s lips as she nips at Andy’s collar bone. 

  
“ _I get to keep you_.”


End file.
